One Hot Murder (16 page)

Food prep always relaxed her—and after what she’d put up with that day from Ida, she felt she deserved a nice quiet evening. Of course, the strawberry wine cooler she downed helped not only to keep her cool, but also to reach her quiet zone even faster as she puttered around the kitchen for more than an hour. She had everything ready at the appointed time, and though Andy was ten minutes late in arriving, that was okay. After all, she had nowhere to go, and it wasn’t like she didn’t know where he was.

She took another wine cooler out of the fridge and cracked the screw cap. She took a sip and then pressed the sweating glass container against her flushed cheek. It felt wonderful. If only she had a life-sized bottle to sidle up against, she would be cool—and keep cool—in no time flat.

She heard footsteps on her stairs and went to the door to open it. “Greetings, and welcome to my most humble abode,” she said, and leaned forward to give Andy a kiss. His face was just as flushed as her own, with sweat beading his forehead.

“Sorry I’m late. We had a rush—”

Katie pressed a finger against his lips to silence him. “No shop talk tonight, okay?”

He laughed. “You got it.” He stepped into the kitchen and sniffed the air. “Something smells good. Is that garlic in the air?”

“Yes. Sit down and I’ll get you a nice cold beer.”

“I could use one after the day I’ve had.”

She shook her finger at him. “No shop talk. Remember?”

He nodded, took a seat at the small table, and accepted the bottle from her. He opened it, taking a long drag. “That hit the spot. Too bad I can’t have more than one.”

“Mustn’t be a bad influence on the boys,” she said, referring to his band of high school misfits in the shop below.

He shook his head, his lips pursing, and for a moment Katie thought he might cry. She took the seat opposite him. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s Blake. One of the boys told me he keeps a small gas can in the trunk of his car.”

“Isn’t that dangerous?”

“Yeah…and convenient—if you want to start a fire.”

In that hot kitchen, Katie suddenly felt cold. She wasn’t sure how to respond.

“It turns out Blake has had a fascination with fire since he was a kid.”

“He’s still a kid,” Katie insisted, but Andy shook his head.

“He’s eighteen, and I’m scared shitless he might go to jail as an arsonist.”

“He’s been caught before?” Katie asked. Andy nodded. “How many fires are we talking about?” she asked, dreading the answer.

“Five that are documented.”

Katie’s heart sank. “Oh, Andy. I’m so sorry. I know how hard you’ve tried to reach these boys, and you’ve had a wonderful success rate—”

Again he shook his head, and then took another long swallow of beer. “I knew he was a troubled kid, but nobody told me about the fires.”

“Has he been arrested?” Katie asked.

“I don’t know. He didn’t show up for work tonight. Nobody’s seen him since Sunday night, and his parents are worried sick. Things don’t look good. If this had been his first offense, he might be sent for therapy, but he was caught starting those other fires. And he lied to Detective Davenport about his whereabouts on the night of the Wood U fire.”

“Where was he?”

“I’m not sure. I heard that secondhand from one of the other boys.”

“Oh, Andy, I’m so sorry.” Katie reached over to rest a hand on his arm. His skin felt hot to the touch.

He didn’t look at her. His eyes seemed watery. He looked away. He probably didn’t want her to see him cry.

It was time to lighten the conversation. Katie got up from her seat. “How about some hors d’oeuvres?”

Andy cleared his throat. “You made hors d’oeuvres?”

“Isn’t that what a good hostess does?” She opened the fridge and took out the glass plate that held an assortment of finger foods, removed the plastic wrap, and placed it on the table before him. “It’s really nothing fancy,” she said as he reached for one of the deviled eggs.

“You piped in the filling?”

She shrugged. “I may not rival the chef at the Ritz, but I can wield a pastry bag just as well as Martha Stewart. I bet I could decorate a cake as good as or better than that domestic diva, too.”

Andy laughed and then took a bite and chewed. Katie studied his face, waiting for a reaction, but he seemed determined to make her wait.

He swallowed and then nodded with what seemed like pleasure. “Curried?” he asked.

She nodded. “My aunt Lizzie loved curried deviled eggs. We had them all the time.”

“Not bad.” He reached for a baguette slice topped with cream cheese and roasted red tomatoes, popped that into his mouth, and chewed. Already he was smiling. He swallowed. “Didn’t you once tell me you didn’t
like
to cook?”

“Deviled eggs and a visit to the grocery store’s olive bar is hardly cooking. And it’s not that I don’t like cooking so much, as that I never had the time. Now I seem to have way too much time on my hands in the evenings.”

He frowned. “Is that another hint that I don’t spend enough time with you?”

“No! When we first started dating, I knew you had a business to run. You knew I had one, too. I admit, I’d love to spend more time with you, but when you’re free, I’m not. And when I’m free, you’re not. That makes the time we
can
spend together all that more special. I hope you feel the same way.”

He looked pensive. “Why did I fall for a girl on the wrong side of the clock?”

“Woman,” Katie corrected, “and I could ask the same thing. But I’m not in a hurry to change things either. Are you?”

“No.” He reached for her hand and drew her down to sit on his lap. It felt like sitting on a heating pad in that sticky kitchen, but Katie didn’t move. He kissed her. He tasted like salty sweat and curried eggs, and he smelled like pizza—comforting. “I love you, Katie.”

“And I love you, too.”

He smiled, but his eyes wandered to the clock. “I told the boys I’d be back to the shop within an hour.”

“That’s okay, the scallops only take twenty minutes in the oven.”

“Oven? No wonder it’s so hot in here,” he said.

Katie shook her head. “The oven you bought for this place is very well insulated—it doesn’t leak much heat at all. Besides, it’s always this warm in this kitchen.”

He frowned. If he expected her to do a pitch for a new circuit box, he was going to be disappointed. She was determined not to mention it. “I’d better pop those scallops into the oven right now. Then I’ll sauté the peapods and mushrooms.”

“More garlic?” he asked.

She smiled. “If you had time to stay, I might hold the garlic, but as you have to get back to work…” She let the sentence trail off.

“You just don’t want me to kiss any of my customers.”

“On the contrary, go ahead and kiss Vance or Godfrey—or even Seth Landers.”

Andy frowned. “As you know,
none
of them are my type.”

She laughed as she grabbed a sauté pan from the cupboard, set it on the stove, and turned the heat up. She’d already washed the peapods and mushrooms. All she had to do was cook them. She grabbed the butter dish from the fridge, hacked off a couple of tablespoons’ worth, and put them into the pan to melt.

“We ought to do this more often,” Andy said. “I like to watch you cook.”

“I would love to cook for you on a regular basis. That way we’d get to spend more time together. How about Monday night after Danny comes back from vacation? Then you won’t have to hurry back to work. And maybe you could stay longer than for just dinner.”

Andy’s smile widened. “You’ve got a date.”

Once Katie had kissed Andy good-bye, washed the dishes, and tidied her kitchen, she had nothing left to do and figured she might as well go back to Artisans Alley and catch up on the mountain of work that she’d been too restless to tackle earlier in the day.

Entering the Alley after hours once felt creepy and a little frightening, but since Katie had moved into the apartment over Andy’s pizzeria, she’d found she got a lot more work done when there were no interruptions from vendors or a telephone that seemed to constantly ring. Besides, working kept her from thinking about certain things. Like missing out on buying the Webster mansion…again. And the fact that she really ought to sell off everything in her storage unit and pocket the money. Or rather, pay off Ezra’s final loan or fix the HVAC.

She slipped the key into the door at the main entrance and let herself in. She preferred entering the building through the lobby after hours. The lamps from the parking
lot shed good light on the entrance and she could see everything around her. Of course, the fact that Andy would watch her lock herself in also gave her a feeling of added security. He insisted that she call him so that he or one of his employees would walk her back to the outside stairs to her apartment—all ten or twelve feet of a journey. Still, it felt nice that someone worried for her safety.

She walked past the closed storefronts, through the Alley’s lobby area, and unlocked the French doors that led inside. The security lights seemed dim and cast wan shadows as she made her way through the booths to the back and her office. She didn’t bother with the lights in the vendors’ lounge. It, too, had a security lamp, and she went into her office, which she hadn’t bothered to lock.

She sat down at the computer and hit the on switch. As she waited for it to boot up, a crack issued from the floor above her. The old building creaked and cracked at all times of the day, especially during weather extremes. But when the sound came again, she cocked her head and listened more carefully, her mouth falling open as though to give her an increased ability to hear. She could swear she heard footsteps up on the second floor. She’d locked up the Alley more than four hours before. Vance had a key, but if he was going to be in the building after hours, he always informed Katie, and she hadn’t seen his truck out in the lot.

She tiptoed out of her office and into the vendors’ lounge, but heard nothing. Next, she ventured onto the sales floor. Another crack made her pause, listening hard. When nothing happened for another minute, she moved toward the back of the building until she came to, and stood in, Vance’s booth, straining to listen. She definitely
did
hear footsteps on the floor above.

With exaggerated care, she quickly walked back toward her office, wincing every time the old wooden floor creaked beneath her. If she could hear creaking and cracking, so could whoever was up on the second floor.

Back her in office, she quickly shut the door and picked up the phone, dialing 911.

“I want to report a trespasser,” she whispered when the dispatcher came on the line. “I’m alone in my workplace on Victoria Square in McKinlay Mill.”

“Can you get out without being seen?”

“I don’t know.” Damn. Why hadn’t she thought of just running out the front door and calling from the pizzeria?

“Then it might be best to stay where you are. Can you barricade yourself in?”

Katie glanced at her file cabinet. Maybe. Her crummy office chairs certainly weren’t going to do the trick. “It would probably cause too much noise, and I don’t want to draw attention to myself.”

“Can you turn off your lights and hide under your desk?”

“Yes.”

“Do it. An officer can be there in a few minutes. I’ll stay on the line with you.”

Katie turned off the lights. The lamps from the back parking lot cast weird shadows, and she was glad the darkness in her office was not absolute. Still, she fumbled her way along the desk and crawled under it.

Something seemed to crash in the vendors’ lounge and her breath caught in her throat. “He’s coming closer,” she whispered into the phone.

“Stay calm, don’t make a sound.”

Katie could hear the footsteps coming closer and closer to her office, and then…they veered and whoever was there went into the bathroom. She listened and distinctly heard the toilet seat bang into the tank and then…

“Good grief! Someone’s peeing in my john!” she cried.

For a second, Katie was sure she heard laughter in her ear.

The lid banged down and Katie heard the toilet flush. Next she heard the water come on as the person behind the
wall washed his or her hands. Well, at least this person was neat. And he or she had known where to find the restroom. Could it be a vendor?

The water switched off, but Katie could still hear the toilet refilling. The person exited the restroom and the footsteps started off again.

Katie felt foolish sitting in the dark when the person in the next room had to be someone she knew. “I’m going to go see who it is.”

“No, don’t!” the dispatcher cautioned. “Please wait until the deputy arrives.”

“How will I know when that happens if I’m hiding in the dark in my office?”

“They’ll break in the door.”

“Oh no they won’t! I’m not paying for that kind of repair—and I know the Sheriff’s Office certainly won’t!”

“Ms. Bonner, please!” the dispatcher pleaded, but Katie had had enough. She hung up the phone, opened the door a crack. There was no one in the vendors’ lounge. She listened for a minute and heard no sound. She fumbled to open the desk’s bottom right drawer, where she kept some tools, and grabbed a claw hammer. Her plan was to hightail it out the back door and run around to the front of the building to wait for the deputy to arrive. The hammer was her insurance.